Promise
by SatansLollipop
Summary: "E-England, do...d-do you have a spell that can let me talk to a d-dead nation? A nation I l-loved d-died and I want to talk to him. He...he is the HRE, the Holy Roman Empire."
1. England

Promise

Chapter 1 – England

The words flowed from his mouth, sounding familiar yet foreign, calm but wild. Sometimes they sounded like the wind rustling in the trees, darting playfully among the leaves, sometimes the song of a clear little brook, flowing merrily, twisting and turning all the way to the sea. They sounded like the unforgiving ice of the far north, it's song beautiful, yet deadly. They sounded like the harsh, brutal desert winds of the Sahara, merciless and cruel. Smoothly, they flowed from his mouth, never stumbling or stuttering over the words.

He felt a warm breeze brush past his cheek, the breeze whirling around the triangle he had drawn onto the metal floor. He felt more gusts of wind appear and join the first, whirling around and around, until they resembled a hurricane. The wind blew angrily, the objects in the room that weren't pinned down lifted airborne. But still he continued to recite the spell.

The playful wind.

The clear little brook.

The unforgiving ice.

The mercilessly desert winds.

Life.

Their songs flowed from his lips.

Playful.

Calm.

Unforgiving.

Merciless.

The winds blew until he was flattened against the wall, but still he did not stop. Finally the wind died down and he dared to open his eyes only to be shocked senseless.

"Hello my dear Albion. You've grown so much since I last saw you. Your brothers Scotland, Wales and Ireland summons me down for a talk at least once a month. I was wondering when you would too. You've inherited my emerald green eyes, it seems. And my eyebrows. How unfortunate."

England could only gape at the beautiful woman standing in the triangle. Indeed, she had the same eyes and eyebrows. Even their hair was the same color. "M-mother?"


	2. Italy

Promise

Chapter 2 – Italy

 **-Earlier that day-**

England was sitting on a chair in his back garden, sipping his warm Earl Grey tea and enjoying the warm sunshine.

His garden was a mixture of colors, bright and dark, leaves and flowers, blooming and wilting. His garden was his pride and joy. Every seed was planted with care. Every day he watered them diligently. He made sure each and every plant had enough water and sunlight. He knew every plants name and needs, which temperature they preferred, which environment it was used to. Contrary to common belief, England was a very caring and concerned parent and he tried his best to raise every of his charges right.

America was just a…um… _special_ case.

He was admiring the blooming daisies, their little yellow faces turned up to the sky, delicate white petals spread, when someone knocked on the door.

Sighing, England got up from his chair, put down his tea onto the table and walked back into his house. The knocking on the door became more frantic. Reaching the door, England opened it, expecting a frantic neighbor, passerby asking for directions or the mailman. What he _didn't_ expect was an almost-in-tears frantic Italy at his door.

England, being the perfect gentlemen, asked "Italy? What do you wa-oof!"

Italy was knocking onto the door rapidly, so when England opened the door, he couldn't stop his hand in time and his hand went straight into England's stomach. Knocking the Brit backwards and onto the floor.

Of course, Italy, being the perfect crybaby he was, instead of doing anything helpful, liking helping England up or apologizing, immediately burst into tears. Making the situation worse for England, who was still seeing stars from hitting his head on the floor. Who knew Italy had such strength? He noticed there was a dent on the door from Italy's knocking. Guess Germany's training had paid off after all.

Wincing in pain, England got up and immediately ushered Italy into the house before anyone came out to see why a teenager was bawling in front of his house. After seating Italy, who was still sobbing, at the table in the back garden. England hurried to the kitchen and came out with a cup of chamomile tea for Italy to calm him down.

Placing the cup of tea in front of the sobbing nation, England sat down opposite Italy.

"Italy," England asked kindly, "what happened?"

"E-england, c…can I ask you s-something?" stammered Italy

"Of course."

"E-England, do...d-do you have a spell that can let me talk to a d-dead nation? A nation I l-loved d-died and I want to talk to him. He...he is the HRE, the Holy Roman Empire."

England blinked, surprised "You believe in magic?"

"O-of course," Italy said, starting to calm down "Grandpa Rome and fratello used to tell me bedtime stories when I couldn't sleep. They were usually about magic, like the sacred tomato fairy who lives inside a tomato box. I tried to catch one once, b-but failed."

"Ah." England murmured, understanding. These days, most people didn't believe in magic anymore, so it was still a shock to know that some nations other than him, Norway and Romania believed in magic.

"England?"

"Yes?"

"Did you grow these plants?" Italy asked "They're beautiful."

"Thanks. Here, drink it." England said pushing the tea to Italy "It's chamomile, I grew it myself. Calms people down."

"Grazie." Murmured Italy, taking a sip of the tea. His golden-brown eyes widened. The tea was _wonderful_.

It tasted like nature, light, airy and palatable, complete with hints of apple and floral sweetness. _If earth and nature had a taste_ , thought Italy, _it would taste like this_.

"Do you like it?" asked England looking nervous. America had laughed and said ice tea was better. France had teased him about it. And China had all but thrown it at him. Maybe there really was something wrong with his tea.

"Grazie!" Italy said "It's wonderful!"

"T-thanks," murmured England, surprised "Now, what did you want to ask me again?"

"Today is the day Holy Roman Empire left. He promised me he would never forget me and would come back one day. I waited centuries for him, b-but he…he never c-came back."

"You want me to summon him?" asked England

"Sí..." murmured Italy, looking nervous and unsure, as if waiting for the ultimate rejection that would follow. Seeing the normally cheery nation so gloomy, England felt a twinge of sorrow in his heart.

"Alright."

"R-really?" Italy looked at England surprised, "You really would?"

"Yes." Answered England "Wait here. I'll go see what I can do."


	3. Britannia

Chapter 3 – Britannia

 **-Back to present time-**

There was a very long period of awkward silence. And then…

"Albion!"

A shell-shocked England suddenly found himself crushed in a bone-breaking hug by a strange woman who looked like him.

"Air," gasped England, squirming out of the woman's embrace "I need air. A-are you really my mother?"

The stranger looked hurt that England questioned her. "Of course, my dear Albion. Do you really not remember me?"

England frowned. Most of his childhood had been spent with his brothers - Scotland, Ireland, Wales - and a few other neighboring nations like France. He tried to remember earlier in his life and caught a few flashes of memories that slipped away like water when he tried to grasp at it.

 _Bright, emerald green eyes under large eyebrows peered at him, filled with love and concern._

 _A pair of strong arms embracing him in a bone-crushing hug._

 _Laughter, loud and wild, carried away by the wind._

 _A woman embracing him and his brothers, even as he tried to squirm away, whispering "I love you all. Never forget that."_

 _His brothers crying as the woman slowly shut her eyes and somehow faded, with England watching in confusion._

He shook away the memories, focusing back on the female in front of him. She looked exactly like the woman in his memories…and his brothers descriptions of their mother.

Long blond hair that fell to her waist.

Large eyebrows.

Emerald eyes.

Pale skin.

She looked like a taller England with long hair.

England knew without doubt, that this was his mother.

He rushed forward and hugged her "I'm sorry I questioned you," he muttered quietly, feeling tears slip down his cheeks "I never…I…I…"

"Hush, little Albion." Murmured his mother "I love you too, and I-I'm sorry I left you."

When they finally parted, England told his mother everything.

Everything from his childhood to the world meetings to the reason he was summoning and Ancient.

Britannia smiled at her child. He had been just a little toddler, learning to walk, when she had died. It had torn at her heart to leave her little Albion behind. But Britannia had fallen and she had had to leave.

When she had arrived at the afterlife, or wherever the nations went after they fell, she had reunited with her friends. Rome and Germania, her friends. Celt, her lover. And Gaul, her best friend and enemy.

She had been happy there.

No sorrows or troubles. No woes or problems.

But she had always missed the children she left behind.

When Scotland, Wales and Ireland had summoned her to earth, she had been delighted to see them again. But she had never seen her youngest, England.

They told her that he was busy every time.

Today, she finally saw him in centuries.

And she was so proud of him.

England was happy he had finally seen his mother.

But there was still the matter of Italy and the HRE.

"I know the Holy Roman Empire's father, Germania. He was so proud of him and his other children. But you cannot summon the HRE."

"Why?" asked England, "Surely there can be an exception."

"I said you _cannot_. Not _will not_. You cannot summon him, because he is not in the afterlife."


End file.
